


Best of Wives

by Gement



Series: Don't Be Shocked When Your Hist'ry Book Mentions Me [5]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Real Person Fiction, Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Academia, Christmas Dinner, Epistolary Elements, F/F, Family, Original Character-centric, Queer Character of Color, shameless flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 20:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5599507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gement/pseuds/Gement
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emily looked Alex over. "I hear you've been distracting my wife."</p><p>"Lovely as she is, I wouldn't dare presume. You seem like a formidable opponent." Was her middle-aged barely-work-acquaintance <em>flirting</em>? With Emily. This was getting weird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best of Wives

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Let's Go Upstate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5582271) by [hollimichele](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollimichele/pseuds/hollimichele). 



> Thanks to hollimichele and atheilen for thorough beta. This work contains many of their ideas without modification, as we slowly merge into one bloblike author. Happy new year!

_December 24, 2015_

**Em:** anna. it's 7. i am cooking with your mother. without the aid of strong drink. new eta?

 **Anna:** Shit, so sorry.

 **Anna:** Set another place? Just found out colleague's a vet with no family. Orphan Christmas policy. On my way, I swear.

 **Anna:** I am so sorry.

 **Em:** grading tally?

 **Anna:** 21/100, but I'm onto a thing. Tell you in person, subway tunnel now, see you in 15-25.

* * *

Annabel Harris unlocked her apartment door at 7:35. A blast of humid air hit her, heavy with roasted meat and pastry crust. She'd been living on coffee since 10 am. This was going to be amazing. She gestured Alex in and headed for the kitchen. "I'm home! Please don't kill me."

"Annabel! Hold on, I gotta wash my hands."

Anna hugged Emily, burying her face in Em's curls and taking a deep breath of the perfume at the nape of her neck before turning to hug her mother, hands freshly washed.

"Mom, Emily, this is Alex Fawcett. Alex, my wife Emily Sabio and my mom Rhonda."

Alex took a step forward and half-bowed, putting on an unexpectedly charming smile. "A pleasure to meet you both."

"Glad you could join us." Mom swooped in and grabbed his hands for the mom handshake: both hands, lots of enthusiasm, gonna upgrade to a hug as soon as possible. "You work with Annabel?"

"Adjacent, anyway. While grading this evening, I let it slip that I had no plans, and apparently allowing me to microwave a lone repast on Christmas Eve would have been a mark against Ms. Harris's honor."

"Ms. Harris?" Mom raised her eyebrows.

Alex faltered. Anna almost facepalmed. Barely an hour ago, she had pounded it through Alex's thick skull that a married academic peer is not a _Miss_.

"If you're sitting down for supper," Mom said, "we are on a first name basis, Alex."

"Thank you, Rhonda. Annabel, then?"

"Anna's fine," Anna said.

Emily looked him over. "I hear you've been distracting my wife."

"Lovely as she is, I wouldn't dare presume. You seem like a formidable opponent." Was her middle-aged barely-work-acquaintance _flirting_? With Emily. This was getting weird.

The oven timer beeped. Emily glanced over her shoulder. "And that's the last pie. Everything's ready, grab a plate."

When everyone's plate was loaded up and Mom had said grace, Emily went for it. "So what's the thing? The thing, onto which you are, which ate your brain to the exclusion of wife, mother, and pie." She kept her tone mock-stern for company, but there was real acid under there.

Anna finished swallowing her first bite of ham. "Alex thinks he can get me a primary source scoop. Never-before-seen, exclusive original documents." She paused, savoring Emily's anticipation.

"Of? Spill."

"Hamilton letters."

"Alexander Hamilton? Ten dollar Founding Father without a father Hamilton." Emily abruptly switched into ace reporter mode, which could be pretty intense for the unprepared. She lasered in on Alex, who turned pink and stared at his plate. "I suddenly feel like I should have paid more attention to the introductions. What was your name again?"

"Fawcett," he said without looking up. "Alex Fawcett, I'm working with Mr. Chernow and we believe we have located a source —"

"Chernow. As in Ron Chernow."

Oh, lord. Emily's thing for Chernow, the man who had bypassed the grueling academic climb that Anna was pouring her life into, and who got a temp office down the hall from her anyway. But Anna was in the doghouse already, plus she couldn't exactly start the popular vs. academic historian wars while sitting across from Chernow's RA who held the keys to new material. She gritted her teeth.

Emily kept going. "Journalist, historian, snappy dresser, somehow actually makes a living at historical writing and consults on Broadway hits, Chernow."

Alex half-laughed, and his shoulders relaxed. "I take it you have met the gentleman."

"I wish. I'm just muckraking for the Post. How did you land that gig? And how can I steal it from you?"

"Oh-kay," Anna said, leaning into Emily's side. "Your credentials have been established, you are Chernow's number one fan. Give the nice research assistant a chance to eat before his food gets cold. Mom, how was your flight?"

"Oh, you know. Crowded. Spent longer in security than on the plane, but what else is new. I caught the new Man from UNCLE movie; they got the costumes right! Made me feel old. It was fun." After a couple more bites, Mom said, "How often do they uncover new sources like this?"

Anna took a deep breath. "Never," she said. "Basically never."

"The Founding Fathers are the most picked-over patch of dead white men in history," Emily said. "It's one of the reasons Chernow's success is..." She slowed herself down. "I know, fangirl later. But first pass at actual letters? Is Anna blackmailing you or what?"

Alex laughed again. "No, no. Nothing like that. It's my clumsy but hopefully effective attempt to gain her forgiveness for a _faux pas_ at her last conference presentation. I'm afraid I interrupted her rather thoroughly."

Emily was taking a sip of wine, and had to work not to do a spit-take. "Oh my god. You're the Death Before Dishonor Derailer."

Anna covered her face. "Jesus, Em. Alex, I'm sorry. I was venting, and _someone_ has no brain-to-mouth filter."

"Heaven knows I've been called worse, and for flimsier cause." Alex shook his head. "Your scholarship deserves to blossom. Having trampled through the garden, it's incumbent upon me to pick up a spade."

"I really appreciate it," Anna said.

Emily studied his face, then nodded slowly. "Okay. This one can stay."

Alex beamed. They might just survive to dessert.

Mom talked about her latest marketing campaign, then asked about Alex's military service, which had been Army, mostly non-combat, handling a commanding officer's logistics and correspondence. (Em murmured, "Organize your information 'til we rise to the occasion." Anna stepped on her foot.)

By the time they cut the pecan pie, everyone had settled in nicely. Alex sighed after the first bite and declared it exquisite. Then he turned sharp eyes on Emily. "So, muckraking for the New York Post? I would be most gratified to learn more about that."

Emily, to Anna's surprise, ducked her head and blushed hard enough for it to show a little. "Oh. It's really not... It's not worth talking about." She poked at her pie.

"Hon, don't sell yourself short! You do good work with what they give you. You're making a difference in there."

"I do my best, but... Look, the Post's been an embarrassment to journalism for forty years now. I've been doing some freelance long form —"

Alex leaned forward. "Oh, but that is exactly why it's an object of fascination. How the sausage gets made, and so on. What _is_ it like in that room?"

Emily choked on a laugh. Anna groaned. "If this turns into a Hamilton quote-off, I need eggnog."

* * *

_December 26, 2015_

**Anna:** Mom safely at gate. On my way to Albany with your fave celebrity author. Fingers crossed.

 **Em:** get the thing!!!

 **Em:** alicia's party is just getting started don't wait up

 **Anna:** Alicia's party is always getting started, don't rub it in. My love to all your sisters!

 **Anna:** ALL. Not just Alicia.

...

 **Em:** got the thing???

 **Anna:** Yeah. Warning: Will require hugs. That was a lot more intense than I expected.

 **Em:** u ok?? still in the heights but i cna b home in an hour

 **Anna:** No, have fun. Just bring extra love home.

 **Em:** ill borrow some from alicia

 **Anna:** Omg. DON'T ENCOURAGE HER.

 **Em:** too late :D

* * *

Anna lay in bed, arms wrapped around herself, and stared at the streetlight patterns on the ceiling. Eventually, Emily came home, humming salsa and swishing through the apartment. Her heels click-click-clicked to the bathroom. The little noises of toothbrushing and makeup removal were reassuringly normal. Normal was good.

Emily slipped into bed, skin against skin. "Hey."

"Hey." Anna made room.

"I come bearing hugs. And I have orders from Alicia to give you the filthiest, least sisterly kiss I can manage. After you're done freaking out, obviously. Did you get video? Sorry, racing thoughts, you know how I get when there's good music, but I will do my damnedest to shut up and listen to you now, 'kay?" Emily burrowed in closer.

"The letters are real," Anna finally said.

"Holy shit, awesome. What's in them?"

"We haven't opened them yet. That's tomorrow. They're locked up in a cupboard on campus. I got to hold the box for the whole ride home."

She fell silent again. Emily vibrated with the effort of keeping quiet, but didn't say anything.

"Gunfire is really fucking loud," Anna said.

Emily froze. "What."

"We weren't the only ones looking. We, uh, we got jumped, and... Okay, this is gonna sound crazy, full-on delusional, this is strictly under spousal confidentiality."

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Don't die."

"Sorry." Emily squeezed her tighter. "What happened?"

"It went full X-Files in there. Complete with Scully shooting a ghost monster in the face." Anna started shaking again.

"Uh. Oh my god. Are you..."

"None of us got hurt. Except the monster. Well, Alex got a little banged up but he's fine. He..." How the hell was she supposed to lead up to this part?

"Thank god you're safe. Uh. When you say Scully... Like real FBI or like Gillian Anderson?"

Anna laughed despite herself, and couldn't stop giggling. "Real FBI. I think. Not Gillian Anderson."

"Damn. A girl can dream."

"More like a younger, hotter Michelle Obama."

"Yowzah. Wait, are you implying Michelle Obama isn't already hot?"

"Hot- _ter_ , I said. And a champion at shooting monsters in the face. Which I've never seen on the First Lady's resumé." Anna finally relaxed enough to roll onto her side. Emily stuck close, a reassuring warmth against the length of her back. "We got video, or at least audio. I doubt Chernow kept pointing the camera at monster lady. You can watch tomorrow, but I don't wanna watch it again. We'll have to trim it for public consumption."

"Wow." Emily went quiet for real, her overclocked brain's extra cycles momentarily consumed.

"Also, it turns out we had Alexander Hamilton over for dinner the other night."

There was a long pause. "You didn't know?"

" _What?_ No, I didn't know. I thought he was an eccentric pet douchebag Chernow dragged onto the Columbia campus to make my life hell." Anna sat up to stare at her wife. "You knew?"

"I thought you didn't want to say anything until your mom was gone. You... really didn't see it? Charming asshole, shorter than me, Mary Sue blue-violet eyes? The Derailer. His face is on the _money_."

"Oh, shut up." It was all just too ridiculous. Anna slithered back under the covers.

"You work with way too many aging white guys if you managed to tune that out."

"Truth." She sighed. "Okay, you win, you are the best at spotting dead men at Christmas dinner. Can I have that kiss from your criminally attractive sister now?"

* * *

_December 27, 2015_

Spotless white table. Spotless white gloves. Locked preservation lab door. Alexander fucking Hamilton sat perched on a nearby stool with a laptop, ready to note each item. Ron fucking Chernow was looking over her shoulder. She didn't need coffee today.

Annabel fucking Harris unknotted a ribbon that had been tied over two centuries ago and dropped it in a protective sleeve. "Black ribbon," she said. Alex's laptop keys clicked.

She put a spacer page down in the document box and unfolded the first letter. "To John Laurens, From Alexander Hamilton, dated August 1, 1778. Sent from White Plains Headquarters." She skimmed it while Alex typed the notation. Then she just sat and stared at it.

"Ms. Harris?"

"Alex. There's definitely discussion of abolition in this letter."

"Yes."

"That is not the only thing in this letter."

"No. I did say this was the collection that could bring shame to Eliza."

"Are you familiar with what it means to out someone, Alex?"

"As in 'the truth will out.' And as in 'out of the closet.' Yes, I am familiar."

Anna's hands shook. "It's something you don't do to other living people without their permission. It's a very bad thing to do without permission."

"You have my permission, Ms. Harris," he said quietly. "I can think of no one I would rather entrust with the task. And it's long past time to put a stop to all the damned bickering brought on by my prudish son's editorial decisions."

"Okay then." She set it gently in the box. "Okay. Uh. One page, front and back. No envelope." She dropped another spacer page. "Next letter."

* * *

**Anna:** Motherfucker. You-Know-Who just Derailed my entire research plan.

 **Em:** !!! ???

 **Anna:** Lams is canon.

 **Anna:** Very, very canon.

 **Em:** omfg

**Author's Note:**

> I confirmed a date when Hamilton and Laurens were writing letters from different locations. [Here's a transcript from Charles Lee's court-martial!](http://founders.archives.gov/?q=Author%3A%22Hamilton%2C%20Alexander%22%20Dates-From%3A1778-07-01&s=1111311111&r=1)
> 
> Pedantic side note regarding "Ms.": This is Sleepy Hollow-influenced, where "Miss Mills" is baked into canon, so, uh, TV language handwave, but in case you want to _accurately_ mangle women's honorifics historically in other work, [here's the history of Mistress/Mrs/Miss/Ms.](http://www.newstatesman.com/cultural-capital/2014/09/mistress-miss-mrs-or-ms-untangling-shifting-history-women-s-titles) It should have been "Mistress Mills" from the second she said "police officer," and Ms. is an almost exact modern equivalent.
> 
> Side note on Chernow, as this is the chapter where we've spelled out the fix: Real Chernow TM is an independent historian with a home office. To facilitate interactions with academic characters, our version of events has produced a short-term temp office at Columbia, but we're aware he has no formal academic affiliation.
> 
> The sandbox is still open to new contributors and directions. Just let us know and jump in!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [We'll Give the World to You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5619478) by [ReginaCordium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReginaCordium/pseuds/ReginaCordium)




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